The Rangeland Avenger by Max Brand
20
It was some time before Riley Sinclair interrupted his pacing and,turning, strode over to the dim outlines of the sleeping girl. She didnot speak, and, leaning close above her, he heard her regularbreathing.
Waiting until he was satisfied that she slept, he began to moverapidly. First, with long, soft steps he went to his saddle, which wasperched on a ridge of rock. This he raised with infinite care,gathering up the stirrups and the cinches so that nothing might drag orstrike. With this bundle secured, he once more went close to the figureof the sleeper and this time dropped on one knee beside her. He couldsee nothing distinctly by the starlight, but her forehead gleamed withone faint highlight, and there was the pale glimmer of one hand abovethe blankets.
For the moment he almost abandoned the plan on which he had resolved,which was no less than to attempt to ride into Sour Creek and return tothe girl before she wakened in the dawn. But suppose that he failed,and that she wakened to find herself alone in the mountain wilderness?He shuddered at the idea, yet he saw no other issue for her than toattempt the execution of his plan.
He rose hastily and walked off, letting his weight fall on his toesaltogether, so that the spurs might not jingle.
Even that brief rest had so far refreshed his mustang that he wasgreeted with flattened ears and flying heels. These efforts Sinclairmet with a smile and terrible whispered curses, whose familiar soundseemed to soothe the horse. He saddled at once, still using care toavoid noise, and swung steeply down the side of the mountain. On thedescending trail, he could cut by one half the miles they had traversedwinding up the slope.
Recklessly he rode, giving the wise pony its head most of the time, andonly seeing that it did not exceed a certain speed, for when a horsepasses a certain rate of going it becomes as reckless as a drunken man.Once or twice they floundered onto sheer gravel slides which thebroncho took by flinging back on its haunches and going down withstiffly braced forelegs. But on the whole the mustang took care ofitself admirably.
In an amazingly short time they struck the more placid footing of thevalley, and Sinclair, looking up, could not believe that he had been soshort a time ago at the top of the flat-crested mountain.
He gave little time to wondering, however, but cut across the valleyfloor at a steady lope. From the top of the mountain the lights of SourCreek were a close-gathered patch, from the level they appeared as ascattering line. Sinclair held straight toward them, keeping away tothe left so as to come onto the well-beaten trail which he knew ran inthat direction. He found it and let the mustang drop back to a steadydogtrot; for, if the journey to Sour Creek was now a short distance,there would be a hard ride back to the flat-topped mountain if hewished to accomplish his business and return before the full dawn. Hemust be there by that time, for who could tell what the girl might dowhen she found herself alone. Therefore he saved the cattle pony asmuch as possible.
He was fairly close to Sour Creek, the lights fanning out broader andbroader as he approached. Suddenly two figures loomed up before him inthe night. He came near and made out a barelegged boy, riding without asaddle and driving a cow before him. He was a very angry herdsman, thisboy. He kept up a continual monologue directed at the cow and hishorse, and so he did not hear the approach of Riley Sinclair until theoutlaw was close upon him. Then he hitched himself around, with hishand on the hip of his old horse, swaying violently with the jerk ofthe gait. He was glad of the company, it seemed.
"Evening, mister. You ain't Hi Corson, are you?"
"Nope, I ain't Hi. Kind of late driving that cow, ain't you?"
The boy swore with shrill fluency.
"We bought old Spot over at the Apwell place, and the darned old foolkeeps breaking down fences and running back every time she gets achance. Ain't nothing so foolish as a cow."
"Why don't your dad sell her for beef?"
"Beef?" The boy laughed. "Say, mister, I'd as soon try to chew leather.They ain't nothing but bones and skin and meanness to old Spot. Butshe's a good milker. When she comes in fresh she gives pretty nigh ontofour gallons a milking."
"Is that so!"
"Sure is! Hard to milk, though. Kick the hat right off'n your head ifyou don't watch her. Never see such a fool cow as old Spot! Hey!"
Taking advantage of this diversion in the attention of her guardian,Spot had ambled off to the side of the road. The boy darted his horseafter her and sent her trotting down the trail, with clicking hoofs andlong, sweeping steps that scuffed up a stifling dust.
"Ain't very good to heat a milker up by running 'em, son," reprovedSinclair.
"I know it ain't. But it wouldn't make me sorry if old Spot justnacherally dropped down dead--she gives me that much trouble. Look ather now, doggone her!"
Spot had turned broadside to them and waited for the boy to catch upbefore she would take another forward step.
"You just coming in to Sour Creek?"
"Yep, I'm strange to this town."
"Well, you sure couldn't have picked a more fussed-up time."
"How come?"
"Well, you hear about the killing of Quade, I reckon?"
"Not a word."
"You ain't? Where you been these days?"
"Oh, yonder in the hills."
"Chipping rocks, eh? Well, Quade was a gent that lived out the normtrail, and he had a fuss with the schoolteacher over Sally Bent, andthe schoolteacher up and murders Quade, and they raise a posse and goout to hang Gaspar, the teacher, and they're kept from it by a strangercalled Sinclair; when the sheriff comes to get Gaspar and hang himlegal and all, that Sinclair sticks up the sheriff and takes Gasparaway, and now they're both outlawed, I hear tell, and they's a price ontheir heads."
The lad brought it out in one huge sentence, sputtering over the wordsin his haste.
"How much of a price?"
"I dunno. It keeps growing. Everybody around Woodville and Sour Creekis chipping in to raise that price. They sure want to get Gaspar andSinclair bad. Gaspar ain't much. He's a kind of sissy, but Sinclair isa killer--and then some."
Sinclair raised his head to the black, solemn mountains. Then he lookedback to his companion.
"Why, has he killed anybody lately?"
"He left one for dead right today!"
"You don't mean it! He sure must be bad."
"Oh, he's bad, right enough. They was a gent named Cartwright come intotown today with his head all banged up. He'd met up with Gaspar andSinclair in the hills, not knowing nothing about them. Got into anargument with Sinclair, and, not being armed, he had it out with fists.He was beating up Sinclair pretty bad--him being a good deal of aman--when Gaspar sneaks up and whangs him on the back of the head withthe butt of his Colt. They rode off and left him for dead. But prettysoon he wakes up. He comes on into Sour Creek, rarin' and tearin' andhuntin' for revenge. Sure will be a bad mess if he meets up withSinclair ag'in!"
"Reckon it had ought to be," replied Sinclair. "Like to see this gentthat waded into two outlaws with his bare fists."
"He's a man, right enough. Got a room up in the hotel. Must have a pileof money, because he took the big room onto the north end of the hotel,the room that's as big as a house. Nothin' else suited him at all. Dadtold me."
"I ain't got nothing particular on hand," murmured Sinclair. "Maybe Ican get in on this manhunt--if they ain't started already."
The boy laughed. "Everybody in town has been trying to get in on thatmanhunt, but it ain't any use. Sheriff Kern has got a handpickedposse--every one a fightin' fool, Dad says. Wish you luck, though. Theyain't starting till the morning. Well, here's where I branch off.S'long! Hey, Spot, you old fool, git along, will you?"
Sinclair watched the youngster fade into the gloom behind the amblingcow, then he struck on toward Sour Creek; but, before he reached themain street, he wound off to the left and let his horse drift slowlybeyond the outlying houses.
His problem had become greatly complicated by the information from theboy. He had a double purpose, which was to see Cartwright i
He skirted behind the most northerly outlying shed of the hotel,dismounted there, and threw the reins. Then he slipped back into theshadow of the main building. Directly above him he saw three darkwindows bunched together. This must be Cartwright's room.